


The Shenanigans Of A Character

by BlackCat (DarkCat)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Asriel Dies, Asriel Lives, Basically everyone is hurting on the inside or the outside, Brace Yourself For It, But Sorry Not Smut, But he won't stay death, But they're misunderstood one way or another, Chara Is Their Own Warning, Chara Needs a Hug, Chara Redemption, Chara hates humanity, Chara is hurting, Dadster, Demon Chara, Don't forget about poor Asriel, Everyone Dies A Lot, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff and Angst, Frisk is hurting, Gen, Genocide Frisk, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I can't write smut to save my life, I'm An Horrible Human Being, I'm not that cruel, Loneliness, Most of the time, Nice Chara, Non-Binary Chara, Non-Binary Frisk, Or bad, Other, Pacifist Frisk, SAVED Asriel Dreemurr, Sans Dies, Sans is hurting, Soft Chara, Sometimes Chara is a misunderstood hero, Sometimes Chara is a misunderstood villain, There will be fluff too, They Will Die a Lot, Undertale Genocide Route, Undertale Neutral Run, Undertale Pacifit Run, Undertale Post Every Run, Who am I Camila Cuevas?, everyone will suffer, gaster is good, may his puns rest in peace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkCat/pseuds/BlackCat
Summary: And why they think that way.Chara was used to everything, the numbness, the feelings. It's all the same anyway, so why bother? Of course, not that they were free to think that way when their memories failed as often as they did. Making it impossible for the fallen to recall the reason they're still here, at all.(Or a lot of unconnected, sometimes not so unconnected, Chara drabbles. Enjoy!)





	1. A Chat Far From The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's raining somewhere else and Chara is going to die soon. What a good day to share your impending doom with a friend of choice!
> 
> Or the one when Chara and Sans have sort of a meaningful talk in a fancy restaurant in Pacifist Post No Mercy.

"I do not believe I've introduced myself properly, and you deserve as much before we part ways." A short pause, like they need a moment to breathe before breaking it to him (whatever ‘it’ may be).

"My name is Chara Dreemurr, and when the sun sets tomorrow, you'll be free." Another pause, the kid closes their eyes with a suspiciously resigned smile full of acceptance. "Because I'm going to die."

Those are the first words the kid in front of the skeletal comedian musters, without even giving him the time to talk. Voice echoing in the plain walls of the fancy, empty restaurant.

"Well, that sucks." It's his automatic response. The eternal grin in his face unchanged as he leans his elbow in the table, skull in hand. "I mean, you're a good kid. Would've been great keeping you around for a while longer."

Don't get him wrong, he does not like this plan. Not one bit. And that's a freaking understatement.

Maybe at first when they were just a random human that passed through a heavy door and he was just the prankster with the oldest trick in the book aside from the electric buzzer. Maybe he would've accepted the sacrifice then, but they were friends now.

They could not befriend him and then just go off and die, for hell's sake! (Not that he would do anything about it, it was the kid's choice after all, not his problem).

The fallen opened bloodshot eyes and looked at him funny as they played with the fork on the mantel, like he wasn't supposed to take the shared information so lightly.

That's the exact moment a critical part of aforementioned information decided to fit in the skeleton's metaphorical brain. Making sense of the situation at hand.

"Oh… eh, sorry kid but," said skeleton was surprised he was not freaking out by now. Though he was sweating a bit. "Did you just said ‘Dreemurr’? As in… the king's kid, the Chara Dreemurr?"

Scratch that, he was collected on the outside, but that was only because the permanent grin in his skull wouldn't let his jaw crash right unto the polished floor.

The red eyed kid just nods, looking around at posters and itineraries absent mindlessly. Like what they just dropped on him was not by any means the bomb of the century.

Which, okay. It wasn't.

He was not freaking out.

Definitively not freaking out here.

Oh my Asgore, what in the actual…!

The child locks eyes with him finally. Their shoulders sink as they let out a sigh, too heavy for someone as young. In his opinion.

"Look…"

The kid whispered with finality, after looking around as if they suspected a nonexistent someone may be eavesdropping. Looking at him straight in the eye sockets (when no one cared nor bothered to try).

"I need your help, comedian." In an interesting change of roles, now the seemingly eternal smile on their face is the one that vacillates.

He doesn't know if it's at the prospect of accepting help from him or of accepting help at all. Or maybe they're just grim at the prospect of dying, who wouldn't be? What does he know, anyway.

"I… really don't think I can pull this off alone." They add after yet another long, unbearable pause.

They look upon him, and the skeleton in the blue hoodie stares down right back. For a second he expects brown instead of red to greet his glance, but the optical illusion fades soon after.

"I'll be damned, kiddo." He expressed fondly. Though a little anxious non the less. "The king's going to have a heart attack when I tell him."

"Who said you were allowed to?" Remarks the youngster, their voice like the point of a knife.

Despite the subtlety of the threat, he was sure there was an unspoken "because I sure as hell didn't" somewhere in there.

Suddenly, he doesn't recognize them. That grimace is not his kid's patient smile. Hell, he doesn't even know what that is, but he does know the expression's meaning. The comedian begins to recall every interaction he's had with them so far, with this new knowledge.

The child that's grown on him as well as everyone else in their adventure as they traveled the underground had disappeared somewhere along the way.

Replaced by a lookalike, who's smile is forced and faked. Who's complements and good deeds look more like politeness than actual caring.

Maybe he's exaggerating. Yeah, that must be it. The look in their eyes is the only thing that's different (the only thing that gives it away). The change is subtle, but it's there non the less.

"Look, he doesn't have to know, okay?!" They elaborate on it after an uncomfortable minute of deafening silence. "Mister dad guy has enough problems as it is. I won't add to the pile if I can help it."

Yet another long moment of uninterrupted eye contact before the kid looks away in defeat. Another deep, heavy sigh and the stranger is gone. The kid he was rooting for enough to call them a friend surfacing anew, like they'd been there all along.

Well, he'd picked up on the fact the brat was asking him not to judge them. Which, yeah. Can't do. It being kind of his job and everything.

He does not bring that up, however. They'd been quite quiet for a while, so might as well get down to business.

Speaking of which, uh… what was he rambling about again?

"So…" inquired the kid, as if reading his mind. Bored, skeptical tone accompanied by an amused hand gesture, "the old lady behind the door?"

Oh.

"Oh, yeah. That." That's what he was going on about, alright. "So, there's a giant door in the middle of the forest, right? And, well, that spott is just perfect to practice knock knock jokes. I mean, kid; you'd think someone would've seen that masterpiece sooner…"

And off he goes, on and on, as the soft and soothing sound of rain reminisce in the background from somewhere else. Somewhere far within their reach.

Somewhere, where the nonsensical sight of them both being sincerely happy may even be plausible. Possible even.

Far away in a stormy night, like a fever dream. Both shells of what there once was laugh with true glee at something as typical and meaningless as an awful pun. As a tall skeleton and a goat-like monster groan in exaggerated disgust, with a visible smile on both their faces.

And maybe he doesn't mention what he would have done were it not for the promise. And maybe they do not mention how hard it is to hold on and not crave into the everlasting temptation of power, that Frisk had showed them was the meaning of their reincarnation just last timeline (not that he would know anything about that).

But hey, they were going to die anyway so why ruin the moment like that? And well, they were absolutely not going to crave in. So to hell with it all, they both can have a moment of acquaintance in the name of peace and quiet. And maybe share a few jokes in the name of good fun while they're at it.

Until the reception guy notices their presence and begins blubbering nonsense about reservations and kicking them out and blah, blah. Yeah, yeah, they were both already in their way out anyway. Jeez, receptionist are merciless.


	2. The Time When Things Where Easier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As terrible as existence may be. It can we worsened by the fact that one does not know how to feel, or how to make a proper interpretation of other people's feelings.
> 
> Or the one where Chara does not understand human nature. But they hate it.

There was a time when Chara could be themselves, they could do anything they wanted to do. While not been seen by the ones whom they called the oppressors.

Chara's oppressors where always near by however, so that freedom had been nothing but an ignorant dream. They had realized as their mind slowly ‘matured’ (word their favorite opressor had used to describe the process of, quote, ‘getting knowledge but losing brain cells’ before he messed their hair up, when Chara wondered out loud on the prospect of getting older).

The oppressors had changed over time, from a man and a woman to women in uniform. From that onwards, it had only just been the ones in the white coats. The last ones were, by far, the worse of them all, in Chara's point of view.

Chara didn't knew what caused the changes, not at first. But they had noticed a pattern over time. Red.

With every change, there had been a flash of red that came beforehand. So it was reasonable to conclude that, the flash of red that came before everything faded to black for a while was, naturally, the one thing to trigger the event.

Chara could always ask. But it's not like they knew how to do so with anyone that wasn't the man that called himself their ‘dad’.

They could listen to what people said, they could speak back too. That did not meant by any chance that they really heard or understood what the words they were saying meant. They just answered the meaningless words with a carefully selected bunch of their own, something they had heard the ‘adults’ do since when the world seemed bigger.

They always noticed that sometimes people would look at them funny. When it happened, they always made sure not to repeat that exact answer to the question if asked ever again. When that didn't worked, Chara resolved on making up a different answer every time they were asked, except if the question had been asked twice in a given amount of time.

This was always hard, and sometimes they had found themselves willing to give up and just ignore the question altogether. Though there were moments when they were about to do it and the voices that sounded like Chara's own had been there, in their head, to summit them the appropriate answers. A ‘conscience’ the man had called it, what a funny word.

When Chara was in an early age, in the time of their first oppressors, they had been what the… woman had defined as… ‘clumpsy’ (whatever the word meant). She had said it every time they fell, scratched, scrapped their knees or she hit them.

Like that time they fell from the top of the stairs (at least, she told the man they fell) Chara could recall this incident better than any other.

They could still feel the phantom of a hand in their back, pushing them over the edge of the staircase. They could recall the look full of complex utter emotion in the man's face. Ask themselves why everyone around them seemed capable to understand.

‘Why is there water in his face? Why is it falling from his cheeks? Can humans rain with their eyes?’

Those and a thousand more questions had come to their so called mind at the time, and it had gotten to a point where they couldn't understand what they were… ‘thinking’ he had called it when they asked.

He had named the one thing that made them capable of doing so as their ‘mind’ instead of the ‘blank space of peace’ they described it as. He explained to them that when people has water coming out of their eyes it's called crying, a sign of a person not feeling right. Chara couldn't tell the difference in phrasing but they had gotten used to some of the words he explained already, so they had dropped the subject altogether.

They recalled everything, to the redish like water sprouting out of their head at an alarming rate, to the nails made of plastic digging hard on their skin later on, in that place that smelled of antiseptic. When there seemingly wasn't white dressed people around to see.

"Why are you so clumsy Chara?" She had always yelled on that language they could somehow comprehend without really understanding it. When the persons in white coats where out of sight and she thought they couldn't hear her. But Chara knew better now, the white dressed people was always around, the persons in white coats heard everything, always.

"My baby, you're so clumsy!" She had always said, in that sweet soothing, smooth tone and that perfectly beautifuly sweet predatory like smile. That was the sight for Chara to run, before she could ask why.

The moment everything ended, was when they couldn't. She had catched them by the arm. The man wasn't home.

"Why are you so clumsy, my little star?" She said. The nickname sounding sour on her tongue. Unlike when the man said it. They were both in the kitchen.

Chara's eyes were unexpectedly drawn at the knives. Without as much as a second thought, they grabbed unto one. And for the first time, everything went red.

They could barely recall the man screaming their name, trying to get to them. Chara could remember his eyes, watered. Hear his painful screams as those blue wearers held him in place.

"They're all I have. Please, I know I can help them. Please, please just don't take my little star away from me!"

They could barely recall the struggle. As their dizzy mind gave in the urge to get to him.

The word ‘dad’ hadn't held more meaning than the moment they screamed it at the top of their lungs.

It occurs to them now, that he wasn't really an oppressor.

After their mind had recovered from the instant shutdown that happened afterwards. There was the women in gray dresses. Indifferent and judgemental. And the other youngters at their care.

Chara soon discovered other kids their age were awful. They would use nicknames, and push them around. Although some of them seemed kind, like the man had being, they were a minority.

It had gotten to them. They knew it shouldn't, after all they didn't understand half the words the other youngsters used to describe them, and the women weren't as eager to explain as the man had been.

But hearing 'em whispering things about them in each other's ears. Some even cowering when they were close. Seeing some others openly laugh when they were out of earshot.

Chara knows now it was foolish. Hell, it was the stupidest thing they had ever done. But they found themselves in the large kitchen of the big house that wasn't and would never be home, asking themselves: _Where are the knives?_

They hadn't noticed they said it out loud until one of the cooks looked at them funny. They had soon noticed that she was their second favorite. The oppressor who, despite not being unlike the others, seemed interest in answering their questions.

Her presence had stopped them. Delaying the inevitable.

This particular woman even asked for their date of birth. In which she gave them a decorated box, with a comfortable green sweater inside it. Their favorite, the same sweater they were now wearing.

However, her presence, though soothing, was short-lived.

One day they found her in the front of the house. A suitcase under her arm.

"I'll be back soon, little angel." She said, caressing Chara's hair, after the obvious questions had been asked.

Soon, the ‘where are you going?’s and ‘why are you leaving?’s turned into an outright ‘please don't leave me, bad things happen when kind people leave.’

Unfortunately, she left.

Chara had gone straight back to the kitchen that same night.

On the drawer, there were the knives. And they saw red.

There wasn't any meaningful memory after that. Nothing but flashes of colors and the distant sound of screaming. Then nothing but white walls.

Now here. On this soft, white room. There was only Chara on a newly washed green sweater. Knowing for sure the one who knit it (the one who had showed them how to knit) was not going to come back to see them again.

Days passed without them noticing, of that they were sure.

The people in white coats was anything but nice. They had needles, they had pills. The food was awful. The room was blank, and the walls were closing in.

A nurse, one they hadn't seen until that day, told them to hold the syringe for a second as he received a call .

They saw the door was left barely open, and they ran for it.

They saw an opening on the hall, a flash of sunlight shinning through (a window, they now recalled, that's how the man had called it). Without a moment of hesitation, they went through.

Chara literally ran for the hills. When they couldn't run any more, they climbed. Though their heart was hammering and they where barely breathing, they didn't stop… until they reached the cave.

The cavern had two openings, one upon them and one below them, what at their eyes seemed like a bottomless pit. They felt the urge to get closer, to stare unto the abyss.

The man had once read a book to them, they could hear his voice as clear as the sunlight shined through the ceiling.

"As he stared into the abyss." They mumbled along with it. "He was sure that someone, something…" they stopped for dramatic effect, not unlike what the man had done. "He was sure the abyss itself, stared back."

It was in that exact moment, as the sentence left their mouth, that they tripped.

Their mind turned one last time at the words of the first woman. She had been right, they thought as they were enveloped by darkness, they _were_ clumsy.

On that exact moment, from the corner of their eyes, they swore they saw red.


	3. Have You Even Eaten?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fallen and the comedian have a good chat on why it's important to take care of one's self.
> 
> Or serious Sans is serious (and one should not mess with him.)

The fallen tries to figure out where exactly was it that they fell asleep. Because it feels strangely warm and safe.

Unlike the tumb cold merciless of the last soft surface they remember collapsing into. Just before the world disappeared from their senses.

Rationally they know this cannot be their bed. Certainly not their patch of grass in the void either, because the ever so sweetly sickening smell of buttercups is not present.

There's also the ghost like sensation of someone's hand playing with their hair. Making curls out of short locks, with fingers way too thin.

Yeah, that'll definitely be impossible if they'd reset to their last location.

Red, bloodshot eyes opened, received by the blurry sight of light. For a second, the skeletal touch is replaced by the comfortingly fuzzy fur of a paw.

The illusion does not fade until it's far too late.

"Please don't touch me…" the child whispers, forgetting for a second where they are (if one can forget what was never known), eyes barely attaching to the dim light of the room. "People up there hardly ever looked at me, and they usually never touched me."

Aforementioned hand stops caressing their hair abruptly, the interaction broken all too quickly. The newly reawakened fallen almost regrets their previous words.

Almost.

Just like they almost expect a soothing, child like voice to accompany their careless slip up. Telling them that no, it's fine, it was his mistake. Their hair was just so soft, that's all.

Instead, a low and smooth but not any less soothing voice replies with an; "okay, I don't know how to respond to that kiddo."

The tired child in the blue and pink sweater finds themselves being comforted non the less, but for very different reasons than one might expect.

The routine with which he addresses the situation being one of 'em. The subtle nod at understanding his unusually serious tone carries being another.

"Then don't." Offers the fallen a simpler solution than that of acknowledging the dust in the room (thankfully metaphorical).

"I…" a pause, a sigh and then he breathes out hesitant. "Look kid. I think we both know what happened in the forest, so there's no use in withholding information on that topic. Since when have you been this ill?"

What follows is a long moment of awkward silence, he expecting a response and they giving none.

While the spots in the child's blurry vision reduced enough for them to notice the absence of his hoodie and the blue fabric surrounding their small body like a blanket.

Then, the tv in front of them, projecting its colorful light on the green couch the child was currently lying on, altogether with the texture of a dirty pillow under their head.

"You… do know what happened, don'tcha?" He says, and though the fallen may not be in their finest form as far as their sight goes they're sure there's sweat pouring down his skull, accentuated by the glimmer light of the television.

The fallen makes a point of repositioning themselves to sit on the couch instead of just lying on it.

"I don't really remember much, now that I think about it." Shrugs the young one, the unreadable tone they'd carried since the beginning of the conversation giving way to uncaring confusion.

"Oh, okay well… be sure to warn me next time you decide to black out on us in the middle of a puzzle, buddy." they try not to detect the sting of sarcasm in his voice. They do not succeed. "It'd be appreciated, you almost gave Paps a heart attack."

The comedian repositions himself in the sofa, so that he's sitting comfortably next to the fallen one. Facing them, pupils dim enough that they might as well not be present, awaiting a reply.

 _I didn't think any of you two were akin to having a physical heart._ They thought, but resist the urge to point it out.

"I'm sorry…" the child mumbles instead, in autopilot, way too out of it to even try and sound sincere.

"Don't be." An unsaid ‘don't even start with me’ was clear in his painful grimace.

How could someone with an permanent grin manage to form a proper scowl, the world may never know.

"I… I really… I really am." Whispers the child against their better judgment. Their voice trembling, a memory of their biological father surfacing as they notice the skeleton's expression.

The red eyes of the young one make a point of receiving his glace with one of their own, not challenging (because they don't have it in them to even try) but not reassuring either. Maybe something between the two, though who of the two of them they'd been trying to reassure it's unclear.

His gaze is the one to give up the staring contest first, finding its way to their feet, but he returns his pupils to their direction immediately after.

"Just… promise you'll never overwork yourself like that again. Jeez kid, have you even eaten?" The rhetoric nature of the question and the short pause before the word ‘promise’ (as if testing it) was not lost to them. "I mean, we have an Inn you know; you don't have to die from exhaustion. There's enough skeletons in this town as it is."

And there goes the serious tone of the conversation.

They don't need to look at him to know he's winking. They just know he is.

The fallen appreciated the attempt to lighten the mood with familiar banter and distasteful humor.

Or rather, they would if there wasn't a disappointment in his tone they remember hearing from mom every time she'd caught them in the kitchen late at night, long sleeved pijamas and a knife in hand.

They must be dreaming, that must be it. Except, the sight of the comedian of all monsters scolding them for not taking proper care of themselves feels like too much of a crazy scenario even in their own mind.

Then came the knowledge that he was actually expecting an answer and they couldn't just leave him hanging this time round.

What followed was a full minute of silence followed by restless stammering as the child struggled to try and form a proper sentence about how they ate a candy in their way here (yes, only one; because the sign said to take one) and how they barely had the money for a donut but needed to save it for later, because spiders.

Finally, some part of what they say manage to stick and be comprehensible enough to be understandable.

"I, yes of course I ate- I… you two must be sick of me as it is and- I won't faint on you again… I promise." A pause, as they process how false the statement sounds. "To take care of myself, I mean… I will, really. I mean it."

And they do, they really do. Which is surprising even to the young one themselves. Pulling the blue jacket closer to their small body.

 _This won't happen again. I won't be a burden._ They feel the need to add, but don't (because it's heavily implied as it is).

His hand comes close to their face again, he seems to doubt and finally settles for leaving it in their shoulder instead of playing with their hair like before.

"You know, you seem like a good kid but there are times when you drift away and your eyes get really glassy." He describes, rambling, his free hand moving on and about, "you know what I mean, that look in your face… I won't even grace it with a description, this-" he makes a gesture in their general direction, pupils deeming even more in the light of the tv, "whatever you're going through. It's not healthy to carry that burden alone, it just… isn't."

His other hand founds it's way on their forehead, as if testing temperature. He mumbles something under his breath about their fever getting better, they don't catch the entirety of it.

"I'm not one to judge, it doesn't have to be me." He says, and this has to be the first time the fallen has ever seen his grin subside apart from… yeah, not going there. He continues talking, making a point of looking at them as if saying ‘that's the expression I mentioned’. "But you have to talk to someone about it sometime, got it?"

He lets out a sigh of relief when they nod, not trusting their tongue not to leave them a stammering mess.

"Just… take care, pal."

For a second they're sure he's going to hug them, but then the hand in their forehead gives them an awkward pat in the head and puts the fluffy grey hoodie over their eyes before retreating rapidly.

When they recover from the shock of the stunt, he's gone.

The fallen takes a minute to acknowledge the fact that they didn't even heard him climb up the stairs, and smiled as they get a glimpse of his sleeper disappearing in the door to the kitchen. With a familiarity that felt a lot like home, but not quite.

After some minutes of restless movement adorned by an increasing interest in the ceiling, the universe seems to take pity on their soul and sleep finally finds them.

The child wakes up the next morning (or well, they assume it's morning) to a smell that could not be deemed as unpleasant, but the description was not too far off.

They leave the blue hoodie in the couch, eyeing it warily.

The young one makes way to the kitchen, to find a chair positioned in front of the exaggeratedly tall sink. A note sits in it peacefully beside a glass of water and a plate full of something resembling spaghetti, but not looking quite as appealing.

They settled for reading the note first.

"Human!" The child exclaims in their best Papyrus imitation when faced with the unusual font. "You gave us quite a scare yesterday, I tried to wake you up but Sans said you just needed the rest. So we brought you here! I hope you found our couch comfortable. I wanted to watch you all night, but Sans volunteered. (Though I'm certain he fell asleep, that lazybones!)"

"Well, he's not wrong…" They pause for a second so they can drink the glass of water, all that yelling taking a store in their sore throat. Then they proceed to unfold the rest of the paper.

"Anyway, you did seem pale, are you sick? Sans said as much, but fear not! For there's no better alternative to cure you than a plate of homecooked pasta, crafted by yours truly! (Little do you know, this is my second attempt at a spaghetti-trap! You'll like it so much, that you won't even want to leave! And so, you'll stay with us until I can deliver you to Undyne and take my rightful place in the Royal Guard, nyeh heh heh!) - Slightly bonetussled, Papyrus."

The young one stopped reading to giggle at the tall skeleton's antics, as well as their own. Before noticing a lazily drawn arrow below the words, that bearly fit in the massive paper sheet as it was. They turn the note around, and are greet by a simple sentence in comic sans.

"Look under the sink, kiddo." They read, trying and failing to make a convincing imitation of the comedian.

The child raised an eyebrow at the weird request, but they do as told non the less.

They move the chair aside carefully as not to damage the pasta, setting the glass in it soon after it was out of the way. When the fallen opens the door to the insides of the massive sink, a familiar and sudden smell assaults their senses.

There, on the floor, is a little pie bird full of butterscotch-cinnamon pie. Maybe not as well made as Toriel's, but the delicious nature of the treat can't be argued by its smell alone.

Under the vase, there's a note, far smaller than the one in the chair. The fallen does not hesitate to read it.

"Someone gave me the recipe to make these a while back, and I thought you'd be hungry." Two sentences, the note isn't even signed, but they recognize the font clearly.

With a smile, they take the fork from the chair on their side, not even bothering to take a bite of off the spaghetti (since the use of concrete and red paint instead of meatballs and tomato sauce renders it inedible anyway).

"Thanks, comedian." Whispered the fallen, in such a low volume not even their own ears picked up on it.

The child wasn't even conscious of how much they missed their mom and dad until now that the ever present hole in their chest filled somewhat.

After storing the pie in their inventory (with the fork, just in case) and the spaghetti in the fridge (with a note accompanying it that expressed their wish for Papyrus to have it instead), the young one sits down in front of the sink and takes in the silence of the deserted house.

It begins to upset the child after a while, bringing back unpleasant memories of a dusty, empty home.

Unable to bear it any longer, they begin to make way to the front door.

After a moment, they reconsider. "Thanks you two, for everything." Writtes the fallen in the backside of one of the sock related notes. "But I need to be on my way now." After a moment, they hesitantly add "I hope we encounter each other again in the future."

 _I'm sure we will._ they want to add too, but restrain themselves from doing so at the last second.

Leaving the note at the door in their way out, the fallen exits the now not-so-welcoming place. Looking around the life-filled town.

They had a promise to honor.

Maybe the lady on the store would give the child a discount if she saw the bright, sincere smile that seemed pasted on their face today.

Despite the probabilities, the fallen was willing to try.


	6. Y A C B M - Sans Ending: The Fact That I Expected This To Happen...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Not Mean It Hurts Any Less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the frist part of the first interlude-ending of my story. Canonically placed after chapter five and uncanonnical from true chapter six onwards. I'm moving it here in case anyone still would want to read it.

" Y O U " Said again a known voice, in that utterly terrifying tone they would never grow accustomed to.

Sans. Sans is there when the fallen turns back.

It takes a minute for their mind to fully process that, yes, it's Sans.  _Sans is here._

That's their first comprehensive thought in the scramble of panicking static that their mind became.

Because the comedian is  _here_. Now. At ten feet from them. Just… staring at them with pitch black eye sockets.

The rest of themselves isn't doing much of the thinking. Except for the part that is currently rationalizing the situation, screaming at the fallen to  _run for their goddamned life._

Not that that's any different from all the rest of their brain mind you, which is doing technically the same thing. Just louder and a whole lot messier in the request.

Because Sans is  _here_.  _Now_. Currently underground, in the same room. Standing near the bed of golden flowers. Looking  _straight_  at them. Not through them. But  _at_  them.  _Directly_.

And that's when the stammering, shivering mess that Chara became finally allowed itself to get through ( _get through_ , not  _overcome_ ) the shock. And acknowledge the elephant in the room.

Sans can see them.

Which in itself shouldn't be that shocking a fact.

Because really, the fallen has a physical body now. It's obvious. It's ridiculously  _obvious_. Of course he can see them. It just  _didn't occur to them that he could._  For  _some_  reason, their mind hadn't wandered in that direction.

Not an  _unknown_  reason. Chara wants to think they know themselves better than to assume they are brave, fearless, or  _anything_  resembling invensible, really.

In fact, now that Chara gives themselves the chance to wonder on the subject without immediately dropping it, they acknowledge it's quite the opposite. They're defenseless.

Chara is defenseless, because they're  _scared_  of him. Scared of the skeleton glaring through-  _at_  them with cold, death eyes. Terrified in the  _core_  of their very  _soul_.

"Comedian." The fallen deadpans in an unreadable tone. Not purposely, but because they don't know what to feel.

And, of course that's the first spell-able thought they manage to communicate. Of course that's the first word to escape their blown mind and get to their mouth.

Of course the first thing they would do, was call him by  _that_  nickname.

Nickname that they had also given Snowdrake.

Nickname that he would obviously be able to recognize, if he had been following them around for long enough (which the fallen had no doubt he had.)

Nickname Chara had used to  _address him directly_  just a timeline before this one.

The sane, logical parts of their mind (that somehow had not shut down entirely) were now screaming even louder. Informing Chara that if they were panicking before, they were havig a straight up panic attack now.

And  _Thank you kindly brain, for the obvious piece of useless information_. But they knew that already.

"Comedian." They repeat automatically. In what had to be sheer pure  _stupidity_ , or a  _death wish_.

Chara's brain didn't think any of the two terms was accurate enough, so they just settled for both.

The fallen can just imagine the look on their face right now, but they suppose it resembles that of pure horror. Honestly, they're surprised their voice didn't actually broke.

He's still looking at them. Just…  _staring_.

That's somehow more frightening that if he had moved to attack them, that if he had moved at all.

Attacks were familiar. Attacks they can dodge. Attacks they can deal with.  _Live_  with.

For all they know Frisk either ran for the hills  _like Chara should_  or is still unmoved, almost lifeless, frozen on the spot behind them. They legitimately couldn't care less.

Because the comedian is here. The comedian can see them. And, bloody hell,  _he's here_.

This feeling. The strong pulse of nonexistent LOVE under their skin.

The sunlight shinning through the hole that loomed over them. That almost seems to resemble that of the light shinning through the windows of a deserted golden hall.

If their imagination could stretch far enough, they can swear they feel the dust on their hands replace the dirt. Burning in overly sensible, bare skin.

Thay take a step back, terrorised.

Then they take another one, for good measure.

_This feeling…_

They don't think they will ever get over this. Not even eventually, given time and effort. Not ever.

If said ‘eventually’ existed for them, that is. Which given the situation was unlikely at best and impossible at worst.

Chara was inclined to bet on the ‘worst’ scenario.

"C-Comedian." They repeat. And their voice  _does_  break this time. The fallen is not surprised.

He still hasn't moved an inch.

 _Idiot!_  Chara's own conscience mentally yelled at them,  _This is your chance, it may be the only chance you're gonna get! What are you standing around for?! Snap out of it, get yourself together and run away already!_

And they were damned if that voice resembled Flowey's way too much for their own comfort.


	7. Y A C B M - Sans Bad Outcome: The ‘Worse’ Scenario

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chara suffers, unjustifiedly so.
> 
> Or the author has way too much fun making Chara suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of the first interlude-ending of my story. Canonically placed after the first part and uncanonnical from true chapter six onwards. I'm moving it here in case anyone still would want to read it.

Chara get it together, Chara get it together.

They repeated like a mantra in their own head, over and over.

It didn't seem to be working.

And it all was worsened when he finally moved, taking a step forward.

"C-Comedian!" Chara repeated alarmed, like the idiot they were. Taking a step backwards automatically.

Then, as if the situation couldn't get worse, they heard the shuffle of leaves and pellets behind them.

Frisk was awake.

And goodness damn it, Frisk was awake.

Such wonderful timing.

Chara forgot about their panic just long enough to turn around and glare at the seventh fallen.

"Rise and shine, sunshine." They lay out through gritted teeth.

Frisk takes a moment to wonder on their surroundings cautiously. The child spots Chara, then they spot Sans. And Chara can see the exact moment the gears in their head stop spinning.

Because it's the exact same moment the seventh fallen's expressive face adopts un utterly terrified look.

"Y-you!" They yell (Frisk… yelling…) then asked, aparently frightned, something along the lines of: ‘How are you here?! Get away from me!’

The kid retreats further into the wall, seemingly distressed.

"Oh, I know what you're doing." Chara growled nervously, licking their lips as they began to sweat.

Frisk wouldn't. The child wouldn't. That kid wouldn't really…

But that's exactly what they're doing.

"I know what you're doing, Frisk!" Chara screamed, now overly conscious that the comedian could, and by all means should, be preparing an attack behind their back. "And it's not going to work!"

They turn back. And there it is, the gears are now running in the skeleton's head.

Chara had to rectify this situation, and fast.

They need to save the monsters.

From Frisk, and from themselves.

They need to.

They need him to listen.

"Comedian-" They say purposefully, but once again they don't get past that. Not because they can't find the words, this time is Frisk the one who interrupts them.

"Sans!" The child scream, they seem to have just noticed his presence, but Chara knows better. They're saying ‘Sans, you have to help me!’ and Chara is at a loss of what to do.

"Comedian, please." The fallen looks at him, pleading him to look at them and not at Frisk. Pleading him to listen.

"Sans, you _promised!_ " Frisk yells.

And oh no, Frisk didn't.

But the child just did… didn't they?

Frisk just used Chara's promise. The promise they made Sans make. Against them.

Chara had to be dreaming, this had to be a nightmare.

Hell, please let this be a nightmare.

Oh, they can see his face. They can see just the second that the gears stop spinning, and the decision was taken and-

And Chara was going to die, weren't they…?

That look, the look on his face. Is the same face that he has when he-

Of course they were going to die.

There's no hope. No hope left for them. The fallen was just a demon, a demon which only purpose was to let people down and carry out their sins for 'em .

Chara's eyes are fixated on the floor. And the fallen finds the soil to be much more interesting that sheer pure blackness.

But their family, the monsters!

Chara had to save 'em.

"Comedian, don't." The fallen begs. They don't even know when it was that they had begun to cry. "Listen, please listen."

And he was listening, alright. They were honestly surprised he hadn't killed them were they stood yet.

That guarded expression, however, was not any better.

"It's Frisk, they were going to- they were- there was a reset and I- I didn't know what to d-do and I-" They were frantic. They couldn't even finish one sentence. "Please, please I have to save 'em. To save 'em all. Y-you have to believe me!"

He looked at them, really looked at them.

And Chara was suddenly very conscious of the dagger in their hand and the red, glowing veins that contrasted with inhumanly pale skin.

"Please…" They murmured, resigned. "Please, you have to… you must…" The first fallen's sore throat protested, unable to take further rambling.

It was all for nothing. The judge had made his decision long ago.

And Chara did not have the benefits of being innocent until it was proven the contrary.

"I believe you." Those words, those simple three words, made Chara's whole world.

He believed them.

Someone believed them. Someone believed in them.

Someone really did.

The fallen's head snapped back up. A smile filled with pure utter happiness, a maniac glee proper of a child their age.

Because he believed them.

"Come here, pal."

And Chara was so lost in their own happiness. That they failed to notice the way his expression darkened. Or the way he did not correspond the gesture.

They embraced him, hard. They held unto him for dear life, like the very concept of their existence would be lost if they were to let go.

Like every time this had happened before, in every genocide run at least once, they failed to notice the imminent threat until it was too late.

Chara had a full second in which realization downed on them.

Then, there was only pain.

And of course he didn't believe them, the fallen thought as hollow laughter left their mouth.

Asriel had been right. Flowey had been right.

Chara was such an idiot.

Even so, their brain didn't waste the chance to remind them that it was them who gave Frisk the idea to blame them.

That this was all Chara's fault.

And the fallen was beginning to remember why they hadn't missed their conscience. Not one bit.

But they couldn't die yet, they had to save the monsters, they had to, they-

No. Not anymore.

Chara realized.

I'm going to die. I can't.

But the comedian can!

"C-Co-" Chara coughed, blood accumulating in their lungs. "Comedian…" And why was that the only damn sentence they could muster?!

"C-Comedian, you h-have to… you h-have to s-save them…" They fought against fatigue, against the pain, against their own throat.

Because the fallen needed to say this.

"P-Please…" Cough. "Please, k-kill them for me, c-comedian."

They observed his face, as it was him this time who was hit by realization.

He knew now, that he had just been tricked. That was as good a start as any.

But Chara couldn't die yet, they still had to deliver a message.

An important message, that they just now remembered.

"Wait…" They muster just as the frantic skeleton was about to try and fix them up to to avail. "The m-man… who speaks in h-hands… says… hello… "

They watch as he paralyzed once again. Pupils long gone.

Chara didn't think they would make it to the next timeline.

But with the doc waiting for them. The void didn't seemed like such a horrible place anymore.

So the fallen closed their eyes, unaware of their surroundings.

The doctor would be pleased, when they told him they delivered his message.


	8. Y A C B M - Sans Good Outcome: Eventually…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Closer Than It May Seem.
> 
> Or how Chara got to let go of what they've been bottling up since two hundred resets and about a hundred years or so of being in the void, and they discover they really needed the break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third part of the first interlude-ending of my story. Canonically placed after the first part and uncanonnical from true chapter six onwards. I'm moving it here in case anyone still would want to read it.

Chara get it together, Chara get it together.

They repeated like a mantra in their own head, over and over.

Fortunately, they managed to do it. At least just enough not to break.

"Comedian."

And bloody hell, couldn't they say anything else?!

"Please listen."

Yeah, that'll work. That'll work just fine if they knew for the life of them just what they wanted to say.

But it was a good start none the less, because his pupils came back.

And thank goodness. Because Chara does not know if it's possible to have a soul-attack, but if it is they're sure they were pretty close for a second there.

"Well, I'm listening." He said in an unreadable tone.

Chara could not for the life of them find the words to say just what they wanted to communicate.

So they just settled for a sigh as they said in a resigned tone:

"Sit down, it's a long story."

And long it was.

Sit down they did, and so did he. It took a while for them to begin to explain, and his skepticism wasn't helping one bit.

But when the both of them actually got through the talking, Chara was surprised to find that the skepticism in his face was slowly but surely vanishing.

Chara allowed themselves to gain hope, just a little ounce of hope. To finally hope after such a long time, that the never-ending nightmare was going to end, for real this time.

"…Genocide, after genocide after genocide… ‘oh, you always can blame me’ I said, like the idiot I was…" They trailed off.

"…What was I supposed to do? No one would believe me, even if I could talk to somebody…" And, like the judge he is he just… listened.

"…Comedian, the void is an horrible place, you have no idea…" Before they knew it, they found themselves pouring their soul in Sans of all people.

"…And I was so confused, our plan failed, I had been in the void just a second ago… so why was I brought back to life…?"

He nodded.

"…At first I thought, that it was due to destiny, that I had to have a great purpose, or at least some kind of purpose but…"

Sans seemed focused on them, just… listening.

"But… nothing… there was no purpose. No purpose for my existence at all, and after so many genocides I… you were in front of me, and I didn't knew who to ask for help so…"

He nods along. His mind is seemingly somewhere else

"I just couldn't take it, the third one was right there, it didn't occur to me until that moment, that I could have just… that I could have done this ages ago and I would have prevented everything-"

He stood suddenly, and Chara stopped immediately, struck with the newfound need to run away.

"Okay kid, that's enough." His smile was strained, as he messed their hair up. "Man, I asked if you had anything to do with the anomalies, not for your life story." He said, a lame attempt at a joke.

When he saw Chara had taken it literally, however, he opened his arms somewhat awkwardly. "you need a hug buddy?, because you look like you really-"

And Chara's face was smashed against the soft surface of his jacket before he could say another word.

"okay i get it, jeez. i really get it, kid." He patted their back, unsure of what to do with his hands. "life it's messed up, okay? this kinda things just… happen, it's not your fault."

Chara hadn't even realized they needed someone to say that so badly, until he did.

Then, the hypothetical damm just broke down. And they found themselves trying to control their sobs.

In a way, Sans was reminiscent of the doctor in the void that day.

He did not have that air of contaminated sterility. But Chara found themselves enjoying the faint scent of snow, grease and ketchup even more.

The fabric of his hoodie was unbelievable soft too. And though he was not doing the best job at being comforting, Chara gave him points for effort.

The thought that someone cared enough to try was enough, really.

Chara couldn't find it in them to let go. Even when the comedian said that they had to, because he had to get to Frisk so the three of them could get a short cut.

Chara did not forget to mention a door in Waterfall. And they did not forget to deliver their message.

Before they knew it, they were on their way to see the doctor. And maybe even free him from the void.

Frisk had not woken up yet, but Chara could not find it in them to cloud their mood with worry. Because the human child would wake up eventually.

And then, Chara would be able to talk to them. And hopefully knock some sense into that mechanical brain of theirs if they had to.

Maybe, they dared to hope… that just maybe, there will be an ‘eventually’ after all.


	9. Y A C B M - Flowey End: Punishment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chara suffers a whole lot more than necessary, then they just kinda die.
> 
> Or the one where Chara is disappointed, pained, and then murdered. Yay! Another day in a ghost-child's routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of the second interlude-ending of my story. Canonically placed after chapter five and uncanonnical from true chapter six onwards. I'm moving it here in case anyone still would want to read it.

"You…" A familiar voice said. Chara begins to shake. "Chara… you're back!"

Don't let it be him.

Fear overcame them as their hands shift into fists. But they resist. Please, please, they prayed to whatever entity existed out there if there was any.

Please for the love of everything holy,  _don't let it be him._

They turned back, but whatever hope they had left was stumped. Seems that if there was an entity out there, it hated the fallen enough to do this.

Chara was not surprised. But it still hurt to watch the phantom of what used to be their sibling, right in front of them.

Then they realize,  _Flowey was not actually looking at them._

Frisk. He was looking at  _Frisk_.

Well, Chara's newfound heart metaphorically breaks in two.

The child can't effort to stand this. And the calm, collected shelf they had managed to form before turning around breaks into millions of pieces, at the knowledge that their own sibling does not recognize them.

It doesn't matter if it's not Asriel.  _Because it used to be him_.

"A-Asriel!" They scream, like the first time they saw him, all those timelines ago. "It's me, it's me, can't you see me?!"

The flower finally looks at them. A cruel look taking over his previously hopeful face.

"Who the hell are you? A friend of Chara's?"

Now, Chara's soul is the one that breaks. They'd be glad if it was a literal kind of breaking, it'll be less painful. Speking from experience.

"Frisk…" they mumbled. "That child… their name is-" the fallen can't stand this any longer.

"Well,  _Frisk_." Flowey smiles, but the emotion behind it was surely not sincere. "I wasn't expecting Chara to bring a friend. But since they're unconscious, which, it's quite inconvenient…" he appears thoughtful for a moment. Before the taunting smirk takes over. "You'll have to take their punishment for leaving me, how's about it?" He sounded creepy. Utterly terrifying.

Chara was not amused at the irony of the situation. It's not funny. A smile overcomes their features all the same.

"I. Am. Chara." They all but growled. Eyes wide open.

"Ha! Is that the b-best imitation you can manage?" He stuttered, sweating, but recovered his Flowey persona. "Chara's creepy face it's way scarier." He bragged, as if he was proud of them for said fact.

"I… am… Chara." They repeated. Utterly crushed by the fact that he wouldn't belive them.

Before he can taunt them again (or something worse), Chara heard the sound of flowers and grass shifting. They turned around, ending face to face with Frisk, Chara's locket resting on the kid's neck.

Oh. So that's why he can't recognize them.

"Tell him." They hate how much their tone resembles that of pleading. They hate themselves for having to plead to someone like Frisk. "Tell him, he's wrong! Tell him  _I'm_  Chara!" But they can't help it.

They need this. They need him to know. They-

"Flowey." Frisk said calmly, voice resembling Chara's way too much for the former-ghost's comfort. "Could you please take care of this nuisance?"

Chara barely has time to feel betrayal, before vines cut through their soul.

"As you wish, Chara. Hehe~ this is going to be so much fun!"

The last thing they hear, is the laughter of the  _monster_  that used to be their sibling. Before everything around them disappears.

In the void, a scientist welcomes a shaking child with open arms. As they sob, cry even.

_Life is so unfair!_


	10. Y A C W M - Asriel End: It Can't Be (Yet Somehow...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chara knows for sure that fate must be taunting them. Because this is too good to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of the second interlude-ending of my story. Canonically placed after chapter five and uncanonnical from true chapter six onwards. I'm moving it here in case anyone still would want to read it.
> 
> With that, we've officially finished with the endings.

"You." Said the familiar voice. "Is… is it really you this time… Chara…?"

"It can't be…" They gasped. Their voice so tiny that they're not even sure if they said it out loud.

And it can't be him.

It just can't.

Chara lost hope in the notion that they would ever see him again.

That they would ever see him, and not Flowey.

It must be the flower, they thought. Growling as their hands became fists and they begin to shake in anger. It must be the flower taunting them. Giving them hope so he can squeeze it as soon as it begins to bloom.

But no. No it isn't. And Chara has to resist the urge to drop to their knees.

Because it's really him.

Asriel.

Asriel himself, is there when they turn back.

And Chara blinks, having to double check. But no, it's really Asriel.

Their sibling. Their beloved brother.

Not a flower. Not a gigantic god-like figure that loomed over them.

Just… plain old Asriel.

Goddamn it. Chara did not thought they could miss him that much. But the sole presence of Asriel fills a hole in their soul. Like an ache they didn't even realize was there, suddenly wasn't there. And they had just noticed it's presence because they couldn't feel it anymore.

Then, when the shock settled. Chara was divided between millions, over millions of conflicting emotions. And the fact that each and every one of them fought to overcome the other was not helping either.

Finally, the two emotions that where generally stronger than the rest won the match.

Now, Chara just had to decide whether they wanted to hug him, or hurt him.

Of course, the hugging option won by far. So they throw themselves at him, without any shame or consideration whatsoever.

"Asriel… you… y-you i-idiot." It's all they could say, through sobs and nonsensical noises. "Never scare m-me l-like that a-again. N-Never, ever. Don't."

"C-Chara." He repeated. Making Chara feel like an expressive and talkative person in comparison.

"Is fine. It's okay, you're okay, I'm okay. Everything is going to be okay." Chara said, when they finally got it together.

To reassure themselves as much as to reassure Asriel. Making sure to control the volume of their voice so it wouldn't dare break.

They couldn't break on Asriel. Not on him. He was the crybaby of this relationship. He was the weakest, the merciful, naive younger brother to Chara's characteristic protectiveness.

Or at least that's what Chara wanted to believe. What Chara made everyone think, in due time.

But, he knew the truth, didn't he?

He knew they were the weakest, that they needed him to at least muster the illusion of strength. And they knew that he knew.

That however, did not stopped them from trying to be strong for him.

Because Asriel was here. Somehow, someway, he was here with them again, for real.

And Chara was not about to question it.

They were not going to challenge fate to give them more bad luck by looking a gifted horse in the mouth. It's clear to them that whatever entity controlles it already hates them enough as it is.

"Don't ever leave me. Not ever." They muster as their grip on him solidified.

Chara was not planning to let go.

They were not going to let go.

Not now. Or any time soon.

Else he would disappear on their sibling again. And Chara was not about to let that happen.


End file.
